Of Summer Heat and Heather's Eyes and Jasmine Tea
by chandlerina
Summary: It's summer, the air is buzzing and Grissom needs help with a case. And Heather is beautiful. Something terribly short about two terribly missed characters.


It was just another Tuesday afternoon. The Las Vegas air was humid, kind of hard to breathe even for those who were used to it. Leaving his office to go out on a hunch, Grissom drove the now familiar way, watching as the sun played tricks on the heating asphalt in front of him. Another BDSM case. Another dead girl with cuts and bruises no one in the lab could explain. But there was an explanation, there had to be an explanation.

Pulling up to her house, his eyes noticed her in the garden. Dressed in all black, she must have been warm in the summer heat, but she didn't look bothered. In fact, as a breeze blew her hair from her face, he watched as she smiled softly to herself. Clipping roses. Perfect, red roses. "American Beauty," he said, walking up slowly towards her. When she turned around, his breath drew short, her piercing eyes meeting his. There had always been something deep in the way she looked at him, and this moment was no exception. "Mr Grissom," she said, her lips curving upwards, "So nice to see you."

She was beautiful. In moments of thought, he'd wondered what it was about her that interested him so much. Concluding that it was many things, it wouldn't be fair to pick one over the other. But she was indeed very beautiful.

The roses were gathered into a vase and he smelled jasmine tea as they stepped out into the parlor. Windows were open to the blooming garden outside. Though it was still humid, the air seemed cooled, breathable, nice and to that, he sighed deeply. "How can I help?" Her words were said through dark red lips, and even after having his eardrums operated, he still couldn't refrain from reading them as she spoke. In short, he explained the case. He presented autopsy pictures. And she told him everything she knew.

And then she poured him tea. There was a great sense of chemistry between them that he couldn't explain. When he spoke, he did so with depth. Often in his life, his words had been mistaken for arrogance. For thinking he knew more than everybody else, when all he simply wanted was to quote Proust or Thoreau. But she was truly different. The gentle way in which she looked at him, as if calmly intrigued. Drawn to him by the tone of his voice, the passion in how he chose his words to describe things. Yes, there was something oddly special in the way they both seemed to look at each other. As if they both felt it, the similarities that had them both sharing a nod or a glance or even the occasional smile. And the differences that only had them fascinated.

She poured him another cup of tea, her fingers tipping the pot lightly, a smell of jasmine filling the space between them as the tea settled in his cup. It seemed as if the air was buzzing with insects, but for the first time in a very long time, he didn't feel like recognizing any of them. He simply wanted to be in this calmness, the gentle green of her eyes. Which he had to admit, was a first. Vaguely could he recall the last time he had looked into a woman's eyes and felt this way. Thinking back to when he first met Catherine, he only recalls seeing sparks in her blues. Sara's browns were compassionate, caring, sometimes asking a lot from him, even when he knew he couldn't live up to those needs. But Heather's. Heather's were mirrors. He found himself looking at himself, looking at someone who saw him for everything he was. Even those aspects of himself he didn't want people to see.

There wasn't a need to fill the silence with meaningless words. But the words they chose to speak truly meant something to both of them. With quotes, he highlighted certain feelings, and it wasn't surprising to him when she answered with her own quotes. Words by famous authors and poets slipped through their lips, coming to life right there in the summer breeze that surrounded them. This wasn't work, though Grissom might have come there on that sole purpose. But this was a bliss.

As the world outside that parlor seemed to go on without them, Heather poured herself another cup of tea. With dark hair and heavy eyelashes and a long, black corset dress, she should have clashed against the innocent white linen cloth. The floral tea cups. Clashed, even against him. But she did not. There was a sense of victorian calmness, of smooth lace in mere earth colors, that seemed to soften and blend everything together. His eyes met hers.

"I should get back to the lab," he said, watching her face as she nodded contently. There was a hesitation lingering inside him. "You should," she said, getting up from her chair, the black in her dress swooping by him as she walked. Following her into the house, he heard a variety of male screams coming from upstairs. Business must be good. "Until next time," she said as she turned around, "Know that you are always welcome to stop by anytime. I value our time together." She was indeed very beautiful. He reached up to stroke a strand of hair from her cheek. "You are beautiful," he said, watching her close her eyes to the touch, "I'll come back soon. Without crime scene photos." To that, she smiled. A wholehearted, real smile, one that he had never seen on her lips before.

And yes, she was indeed truly beautiful.


End file.
